


The Cold Gleam of The Clean Bone

by HeartIconography



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartIconography/pseuds/HeartIconography
Summary: Dean turned to his younger brother, shocked that he had spoken. Sammy had been unnaturally quiet since their father's death. They both knew it was coming. Dean had done his best to shield his brother from the worst of it, but near the end it had been impossible. The kid had eyes in his head, after all."Like I said, this family is well regarded. They've taken in lots of children who were in need of help. They're religious, so they have the support of their church, which I imagine comes in handy. As well, they have a big house with a big yard and a bed for you each."The no nonsense tone screamed one thing loud and clear: Shut up and say thank you.Sammy shrugged at Dean, who then nodded his head at their worker. It wasn't perfect. But she was right, it could be a lot worse.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Cold Gleam of The Clean Bone

Mostly it was embarrassing. Dean Winchester was sixteen and he was sitting at a sticky McDonald's table in the kid's play area. His brother Sammy, who was twelve, was too old for this shit -- and even if he weren't, even if neither of them were, this wasn't exactly the time to drown their sorrows in a goddamn ball pit. His dad was dead. They had no family. And this woman, Agnes, sitting across from them with her manila folder open, had no fucking clue what that was like.  
  
"So, I have good news," she started, clicking her pen.  
  
"Bobby?" Dean asked.   
  
"No, unfortunately we've still been unable to contact your uncle Bobby," she said with a sigh. "But we've found a home for you both. A permanent placement. The family is very well regarded."   
  
"Listen, lady," Dean started, leaning across the table. "We don't want a new family. We want our uncle Bobby."   
  
"In a perfect world, Dean, I'd be able to give that to you. But the circumstances don't allow for it. This is the second best news. It's hard to find a family who wants siblings, especially two boys around your age. Let alone a family like this."   
  
"What do you mean _'like this'_?" Sam asked.   
  
Dean turned to his younger brother, shocked that he had spoken. Sammy had been unnaturally quiet since their father's death. They both knew it was coming. Dean had done his best to shield his brother from the worst of it, but near the end it had been impossible. The kid had eyes in his head, after all.   
  
"Like I said, this family is well regarded. They've taken in lots of children who were in need of help. They're religious so they have the support of their church which I imagine comes in handy. As well, they have a big house with a big yard and a bed for you each."   
  
The no nonsense tone screamed one thing loud and clear: _Shut up and say thank you.  
_  
Sammy shrugged at Dean, who then nodded his head at their worker. It wasn't perfect. But she was right, it could be a lot worse.  
  
  
  
  
The house was a white Victorian monstrosity that seemed to loom over the entire street. To say it was huge would be an understatement. It had been kept up impeccably, and the sterile perfection of it and the carefully manicured lawn made something twist uneasily in Dean's gut. He turned to look at Sam, who was too busy staring slack-jawed at the wrap around porch to notice.  
  
"So," Dean started, shifting the rucksack that was digging painfully into his shoulders, "this it?"   
  
"Isn't it gorgeous?" Agnes asked.   
  
_It isn't home,_ is what he thought. Not that home had been great. In fact, before their father passed away, home had often been motels rooms and the back seat of the Impala. In a lot of ways, saying goodbye to that car had been harder than saying goodbye to his father. Maybe because if Dean was honest, his father had been dead for a long time, and somehow, the car preserved a few good memories of the man he was before, like a dragonfly trapped in amber.   
  
"Well, let's get you introduced," she continued when it became clear no answer was forthcoming.   
  
Dean wasn't surprised when the wooden stairs up to the house didn't creak. He couldn't imagine anything in this house daring to do such a thing. While they waited for the door to open, Dean looked at Sam and tried to smile in a way that would be reassuring -- that said, _Hey, at least we're together, man. At least we still got that much, right?_ but it felt wobbly around the corners.  
  
A woman with dark auburn hair opened the door. While her and Agnes exchanged pleasantries, Dean looked her over, wondering how someone who appeared so warm could leave him totally cold.   
  
"Boys, this Naomi, say hello."   
  
Sam looked uncertainly to Dean.   
  
"I'm Dean," he stepped forward, shielding his brother partially with his body. "And this is my little brother Sammy."   
  
"Sam," his brother corrected.   
  
"Well, come in," Naomi said, stepping back, "and welcome home."   
  
No, Dean corrected silently, _Not home. Definitely not.  
_  
A guy in a crisp white shirt and khaki pants stuttered into the room, hesitant to interrupt. Dean noticed his dark hair was askew, and his eyes tired, but blue -- bright, or maybe not bright, but sharp. Cutting.  
  
"Castiel," Naomi greeted. "Right on time, come here. These are your new foster brothers Dean and Sam. Can you take them upstairs to show them their room while I go over the remaining details with Agnes, please."   
  
"Of course, mother," he agreed quietly. "If you two would please follow me."   
  
Dean hardly looked at the foyer, nor the stairway, which had pictures hanging from the wall. He was suddenly exhausted, as though at the end of a journey, and for a while, Dean guessed he was.   
  
"You must be tired," Castiel began, as though reading Dean's thoughts.   
  
"Beat, man," Dean agreed.   
  
Castiel hummed quietly as he walked into an open room. Inside, there were two single beds and shining hardwood floors. Their window looked out onto a maple tree in the backyard. Sam put his bag down on one of the beds and flopped back, silently staring at the ceiling.   
  
"So you two are brothers, aren't you?" Castiel asked.   
  
"Yep," Dean agreed. "I take it this other bed is for me?"   
  
Castiel nodded, his posture suddenly tight with anxiety or something else, harder to name. It seemed to vibrate from him. Dean wondered at the sudden change, but thought it best not to ask. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough on his plate.  
  
"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, thinking nothing of shortening his name, though it seemed to surprise him. "If it's all the same to you, would it be okay if we had a minute alone? I'm sure you get this all the time, with your foster parents taking in so many kids, but it's kind of not been a great time."  
  
"Of course, Dean," and then, halfway out the door Castiel stopped and added, "I'm sorry, for whatever lead you here. Truly."  
  
  
  
  
Dean walked up to Sam's bed and sat at the foot of it, waiting for his brother to speak. In general Dean had learned when to push him and when to not, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation. When their mother died, they had both been children -- Sam so much so that he didn't remember her at all. And now, Dean was left grappling at what to say. What to do.   
  
"This place gives me the creeps," Sam complained.  
  
"Me too," Dean admitted. "Major Stepford vibes."   
  
"Nice," Sam said with a small smile. Dean hoped he was remembering the two of them, on their ratty motel bed, watching a movie that was far too old for him, the smell of burnt popcorn lingering.   
  
"I know this sucks. I don't want to be here anymore than you do, but you know the plan. We make it work here for two years and then I'm out and you're coming with me. But it's important it's here, Sammy, because we're together. And that's not something easy to find -- remember what Agnes said, okay?"  
  
"Alright," Sam said in a voice smaller than Dean was used to.  
  
"Is there anything I can do to make this better for you?"   
  
"I'm just glad we're together, like you said," Sam told him, squeezing his brother's hand in his own for a small, soft moment.   
  
"I'm glad too," Dean said. "Otherwise I would've had to kidnap you, and no offense, but that seems like more trouble than it's worth."   
  
  
  
  
Dinner that night was nothing short of a feast. Honey glazed ham with round golden rings of pineapple, which if you asked Dean, had no right desecrating a pig like that. Green beans. Mashed potatoes. A salad that Sam had three separate helpings of, though no one commented. The bread was fresh, likely homemade, and the butter soft. And when dessert came, Dean felt a flicker of happiness at an apple pie that looked remarkably close to the one his mother used to make -- the warm smell of apples and cinnamon cradled him against his mother's chest like a child again, just for a moment.   
  
It seemed like they were eating a lot, like everyone was eating a lot, except Naomi and her husband Chuck, who chewed slowly, eyes flickering from kid to kid -- five total, including Sam and Dean. He didn't think much of it, after all, metabolisms slowed down and if you cared about your appearance, which obviously these folks did, then you had to be careful. Though the speed of the chewing for the other three bordered just shy of desperate, but maybe this was a special occasion. Maybe it'd be a lot of frozen food from here on out, not that Dean cared. Hell, cold Spaghetti-o's were a major staple of his diet before he landed here.   
  
They went to bed that night full -- achingly so -- and empty, likewise.   
  
  
  
  
"Dean," a deep voice hissed, pulling him from dreams of a long stretch of highway. "Wake up, Dean. You have to wake up now."   
  
He startled, seeing Castiel's face so close, filling up his vision all at once. Cas was perched on top of Dean, thighs on either side of his own, muscles coiled and tight. Again, Dean could feel the undercurrent of anxiety -- or no, not anxiety -- it was urgency, he could tell that now. Could feel it -- like a palpable thing, permeating the air and making him want to choke.   
  
"Dude, get the fuck off me!" he shouted.   
  
A hand covered his mouth and he was shocked back into silence, not by the action, but by his blue eyes begging. Sam rolled in his sleep, but didn't wake.  
  
"You have to be quiet, okay, Dean?" Castiel asked. "Please, just listen."   
  
Dean nodded.   
  
"You need to leave. Right now, tonight. You need to pack your things and take your brother and get out of here. The maple tree is sturdy. It will bear your weight. Do you understand?"   
  
"Absolutely not," Dean said sarcastically. "You might not want us here, but this is one of the few places that would take both of us. I'm not risking being split up."   
  
"It's not that I don't want you here. Or your brother. Please, trust me, you're risking worse being here. Naomi and Chuck aren't who they seem. They're bad people."  
  
"Then why are you still here?" Dean shot back.   
  
"It's different for me," Cas said quietly. "I can't leave. But if you do -- if you leave tonight, they won't suspect you know anything. They won't look for you."   
  
"Seems like you just don't want to share. This nice, big house. The never-ending dinner. I get it, man --"  
  
Suddenly Castiel grabbed Dean's hand in his own and stuck it under his shirt. The abruptness of the movement, and the warmth of his skin, didn't shock Dean near as much as what he felt. The ridge of Cas' rib bones stuck out like the sharp of a knife or, Dean thought unwillingly, like grief -- or somehow both: the thing that did the killing and the thing that mourned it.   
  
"It's all a lie, Dean. All of it. Look around you. Nothing here is real, you know that. I know you can tell."   
  
"Okay, and what about us? What do we do?" Dean asked, panic rising in him. He would do anything to protect his brother -- anything -- no questions asked. "Can't we just report them or something?"   
  
"You can, but others have tried. It doesn't help. You'll just get a different placement. Likely not together. But I have a friend, Dean, she can help you. She's a little... rough around the edges. But she's good. And better than good, Meg owes me."   
  
"And where is she?"   
  
"She's got an apartment above Beelzebean Coffee on the other side of town. Tell her I sent you. Now I'm going to leave, Dean, and I hope we don't see each other again. For your sake."  
  
Cas crawled gracefully down, Dean only just registering this whole conversation had happened with Castiel basically in his lap. _Don't think about that now, idiot._ Dean left Sam to sleep as he packed their things and woke him after, unsure how to explain why he was ushering him out the window and down the tree just outside other than to say, "Sammy, we gotta go. We gotta go now."


End file.
